


Gimme Shelter

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [6]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-27 18:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: Cast out of EdenAutumn 1972
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Series: 33 and 1/3 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 46
Kudos: 44





	1. Frozen Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard times

I. Live And Let Die

"How do you find the defendant?"  
"Not guilty, on all charges."  
Dem exhaled and released Verity's hand from a vice like grip. She placed her hand on the banister in front of her and tilted her head up as if she hadn't expected anything less, though inwardly, she had been scared to death. She met Ross' glance. One could not read the emotion on his face. He did not look relieved or elated, did not betray any of his thoughts on the matter. He looked away as the courtroom exploded with talk, the sound of chairs scraping the floor, people filing out. He shook hands with his lawyer and they left through a side exit. Dem and Verity went into the hall and were led by a clerk to a door away from the bustle of the hall. "You should get on, Verity. I'll take Ross home." Verity nodded, taking the time to breathe a sigh of relief as well as marvel at Dem's poise. Her posture exact and regal, her dark green velvet blazer and skirt, a hint of black lace from her camisole making her hair look that much more red. Her gold initial charm on its chain and small, gold stud earrings glittering with subdued good taste while still whispering a hint of 'rock and roll wife'. Her shoes, black brogues but with a three inch heel, much higher than Verity had ever seen her wear before. She looked, every inch, a lady. "Shall I come by tomorrow?" asked Verity. Dem bit her bottom lip. The ladylike countenance evaporated. "I'll call you tomorrow. I'm not sure what Ross wants." Verity nodded, gave Demelza a warm embrace and whispered, "Whatever you need, my dear. I'm so glad it's over. His acquittal is no more than Ross deserved from this wretched pantomime!" They released each other and looked at each other lovingly. "You take care, Dem." They smiled. "I will." Verity put on dark, oval shaped, sunglasses and, in a dove grey tailored suit with black stockings, clutch purse and shoes, strode out, ignoring the attempts of reporters trying to get her to speak with them with a sharply upturned nose and left. Dem sat down and felt the stress of waiting to hear Ross' fate leave her. A side door opened and Ross entered with Mr. Clymer, the lawyer and after exchanging pleasantries and her heartfelt thanks, he gave her a condensed recounting of how his strategy seemed to work to Ross' benefit. Ross and Dem demurred when he suggested they could sue for defamation. After this episode, they hadn't the money to consider more legal assistance. They thanked him again. Dem made to leave. Ross seemed lost in his own thoughts. "Ross." she said, quietly. He looked to her and she could see his unhappiness. He was embarrassed to have his heroin addiction come up in court and was nervous over Dem's attitude towards learning of it. She smiled at him. Not a bright smile but a sturdy and supportive one. "Ross," she took him by the arm. "A bailiff will walk us to the car." She squeezed his arm and said, "Don't mind the press. Don't pay them any mind. I'll drive."

They drove home from Truro in silence. What relief they felt from Ross' acquittal was tempered by the fact that the money they paid to the solicitor had brought them to the edge of financial ruin. Even if Dwight could be persuaded to tour, Ross couldn't see their label willing to deal with Resurgam at the moment. He had been falsely accused of drugs trafficking and was vindicated but his former status as a registered heroin addict was brought into evidence by the prosecutor. Also, the business with Dwight was such an unsavory story, the strong momentum of their third album stalled. Dwight had an affair with the wife of one of their roadies, Keren Daniel. When the roadie, Mark Daniel, found out he had strangled her to death. Dwight, so guilt ridden over Keren's death, retreated to London and refused to talk to anyone. Ned went back to Ireland. Resurgam was more likely to be dropped by EMI than assisted by them, thought Ross, as the landscape went by the car windows. Dem looked at Ross as she spared a glance from the road. He was forlorn, his head resting on the window staring at nothing. She had summoned every ounce of Hempel dignity as she walked with Ross to their car, ignoring the reporters questions and all the flash bulbs popping like bonfire night. She held her head up high and drove off with quiet self possession, as if she was the princess royal. Poor Ross looked as if what was left of his heart was broken. They had too much ill luck since Julia died. Ross seemed to take it as a sign that his life was cursed. Or he was cursed. Some wicked aspect of his nature offended god enough to keep taking his family from him. He'd tried to restart the Nampara branch of the Poldarks by having his first child with Dem. To start anew after his parents and younger brother had been gone so long. Any loss of a child is tragic but Ross' loss of Julia hurt him in his most tender spot as well. Ross and Dem started to forget the earlier, happier, more innocent days of their early marriage. After a punishing string of ill fortune it hurt too much to remember how beautiful life could be. How beautiful life had been. They both secretly worried they would not find their way back to those days. They had not the strength to try and lost the will to dream. They clung to each other in bed but felt more separated than ever. When they made love, it was like two people caught in a half remembered habit rather than the moments of true beauty they'd shared. They did not mean to falter, but that's what came to pass. They loved each other but couldn't push aside their misery. Ross and Demelza had retreated into themselves and found the space between them could not be mended if she sat on his lap or they sat in the bath together or tried, with all their heart, to retrieve the closeness they had years prior. They were too broken now.

II. Empty Pages

The familiar sight of Nampara. A stone farmhouse with multiple out buildings dotted on the land, a meadow with an adjoining field, the Long Field, and an unspoiled stretch of beach, Nampara Cove. Home. She parked and turned to Ross. He looked grateful and stricken simultaneously. He'd half convinced himself he was never going to see Nampara again, for Ross had made a pact with himself. If he was convicted, he would kill himself. Demelza was still young. She would be a talented beauty with a small estate and a bit of debt. She would land on her feet with him out of the way. He would not be a trouble to her anymore. Maybe she would remarry and Nampara could have a family grow there than was not doomed by his participation...but they were here. They had been victorious. Why was he not happy? He looked to Dem. So often he had helped her. It was a strange turn about to be on the receiving end of her care. She had done most of the cherishing in their marriage since Julia died. Not that she mourned any less, but she was able to reach out to Ross and protect his heart in a way he was unable to reciprocate. She instinctively moved to hold him and stroked his hair, and kissed his brow when he woke from his lurid nightmares, coaxed him to eat when he felt indifferent to food and would forgo meals, pressed him to keep going when he would rather give up. She was his guardian angel. The tired smiles she gave him as she kept all around them afloat shamed him. She contrived an agreement with the farm shop in Sawle to sell their apples. She consulted with Jud and found a mower who would give them a cut of the sale of hay, a pittance compared to his share but money from the Long Field they had not earned before, which had to be mowed in any case. She rallied Ross when his dour mood became darker. She pushed on. Ross saw her break apart like a toy after they lost Julia but something in her, some bright spark that Ross knew to be her's alone, kept her from falling entirely into despair. He was a weight on her shoulders. He was not strong... Dem could see Ross' exhaustion. He looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and shame. In all the years they'd lived together, Ross seemed to know everything and be a larger than life hero to Dem. He cared for her and gave her everything that was good in her life. She came to this house, whipped and abused, frightened and he set about helping her with a pragmatism in it that kept his care from feeling like charity. He never treated her as if she was some sort of good work or a project in sympathy. He treated a young kid like a trusted friend. He taught her guitar and arranged piano lessons with a local woman, Mrs. Kemp. He sent her to the gentry school rather than the village school that a girl of her class 'should' have attended. He taught her through example that she was worth more than being a beaten down victim. He thought her into being 'Dem' and it meant the world to her. When he turned to her as a lover, she felt like a golden crown had dropped from the sky and was set on her head. That a man like Ross would love her...They had been so happy... And now, in some small way, she could repay that kindness. Ross was a broken man and it was little enough to be the person who helped him see he was worth more than the dark shadows of his past. She had been indignant, believing that Ross being a heroin addict, an addict to the point he could receive government prescription for it was a slander. But Ross looked up at her and then looked away. Verity nodded 'yes'. It had been true. That filled in certain odd mysteries about Ross when they first met. He would sleep at strange times and it was perplexing. He would disappear for a while and come back as if nothing was wrong. The records showed that he had stopped availing himself of scripts in 1964. She blinked back a tear. Ross quit drugs when she came to live at Nampara. He was mortified for her to find out, and in this way, this sham case against him, but all Dem could see was Ross' nobility. He brought a strange child into his home and chose to get clean for her sake as much as his own. Ross was convinced Demelza would think less of him for having been an drug addict. Demelza could only feel pride in him. She was proud of Ross. Ross barely knew her, but he knew he couldn't look after her on heroin, so he stopped. If anything, finding this out had made her love him more... They looked at each other. Could Dem think him into being 'Ross' once more? "Come on, Ross. We're home." she said.

The house was dark and empty. Garrick was away with the Paynters and, of course, Julia's happy babble was absent. They made their way through the house without speaking. Ross felt as if he was greeting the place anew. Reacquainting himself with the place he'd convinced himself he would not see again. "Tea?" asked Dem. Ross nodded 'yes'. She gave his hand a squeeze and went to the kitchen. He watched her as she walked away. She had sat next to Verity with a look of shock when the heroin registration came up in court. He looked up briefly at her as she turned to Verity who nodded to inform her that, yes, Ross had been a heroin addict, that the prosecution had not made it up. He resumed looking at the table in front of him. He had lived in dread that Dem should hear of it. Now it was raked over by the papers and out for all to titter over. Could she still love him? Could he ever stop being a weight round her, dragging her. A flawed man covering her in lurid gossip...Surely a drug addict had no honor. A heroin addict wouldn't think twice about defiling an underage runaway...all the vicious, wagging tongues slandering her life...all because of him... "Ross?" Dem stood at the end of the hall, worried. She didn't expect Ross to jump for joy at his acquittal. That would be against his nature in any case. He had not come to the kitchen. He stood in the hall, brooding over things. She couldn't help him out of it. The best she could do was rouse him out of it in jagged moments. They used to laugh, they used to play guitar together in the evenings. They used to be lovers... Life had gotten in the way. She would do anything to bring back those earlier joys, but it was a matter of survival these days. If she could claw her way to the safe side of life, perhaps they would have the space to heal and become those people again..."Ross, come have some tea, darling..." Ross smiled then. A tight, agonized smile, but a true one. He sincerely loved when Dem called him 'darling'. It was a sign she had seen his distress and wanted to help him. He was blessed. What would he do without her? He could never be as strong as she was. He followed her to the kitchen and sat down. She leaned over behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Dem kissed his cheek and lay her cheek on the top of his head. The nearness of being in her arms, the smell of her hair, her warmth. Could he really have topped himself and never had this again? "Oh Ross, I'm that glad you're home!" He looked up and gave her a watery smile. He rubbed his eyes and she released him to sit across from him and pour tea. The tea was warm and grateful and soothed one's stretched nerves. There was the hum of the refrigerator, the quiet tick of the kitchen clock and the woman he loved and loved him, looking at him with concern. "Ross?' He looked at her over his cup. Demelza set hers down. "Don't let the past get in the way. We're who we are now. That's what counts." Ross set his own cup down. "How did you get so wise, Dem?" They looked at each other with the tired out smiles that had become their default these days. "I had a good teacher, growing up." She reached across the table to hold his hand. 'For richer, for poorer...' thought Ross. If Dem could be strong, perhaps he could be too... Dem rubbed his thumb, nervously. She hesitated. She knew she was pregnant again in court. Maybe starting anew, in all ways, would heal them, for all losing Julia broke them. "We can start again. We can be together again and parents again..." Ross flinched. "I shouldn't want that..." He looked at his lap. Dem's eyes widened. "Not ever?!" Ross looked up, surprised. "Wasn't our last experience of parenthood enough for you?" She checked herself. Ross was not ready to hear her news and it scared her. They had grieved in a ghastly and painful manner when they found Julia dead in her crib. She knew what he meant but that hadn't kept her from being happy over a second chance. A second chance when they, barely, had two pence to rub together, Ross' band in scandalous shambles and a great deal of healing still necessary. One wonders if there is ever a right time for a new baby, but now was not the time to bring it up. Ross felt churlish. He could see Dem retreat into herself. Of course they would have other children. It was inevitable. He hadn't thought Dem's attitude differed from his own. She was, of course, the stronger of the two of them. He drank down his tea, more to give himself time to recover than from thirst. "They may come in time. But I wouldn't want them now and not to take Julia's place..." Dem nodded. The difficulties in their life tired her now. She could not be the guardian angel right now. She had to regroup, shelter herself for a while. She poured him another cup. When they did go to bed, they undressed entirely. Ordinarily, because the necklace charm and chain were so finely wrought, Dem hung her gold 'D' from the side of her mirror on her dressing table at night. Tonight she wore it to bed, nude save for this gilded reminder of who she was and who made her that way. They got under the covers and Ross kissed her. A warm, loving, deep kiss that was at once sexual and strangely innocent. She smoothed his dark curls with her hand, gave Ross a gentle kiss on his forehead and they settled to sleep. They had not considered how they would reunite, but the specter of Julia made lovemaking out of the question. They were too raw over their discussion in the kitchen to want to do that. This night, gratified that Ross was back home but ridden with anxiety over their problems, they sought the one form of protection they could still rely upon in the dark landscape of their diminished life. They had many hardships behind them-and many ahead, though they could not know that-but they knew every inch of each other's skin. For all their hard times and difficulties and the dampening of their married life, there was still comfort to be found in each other's arms. The Poldarks slept.

III. Every Mother's Son

Jud and Prudie were paid, in cash, every fortnight. Ross left Jud the envelope by his teacup, like always. The dark mood that settled over Nampara was not lost on the Paynters, though they did not pry. As they made to leave, Ross came through the kitchen and stopped them in the hall as they were putting on their coats. Ross had a hurt look on his face and they were sorry to see it. "You left your money behind..." He raised his hand out, extending the five pound note Jud had left behind from his pay packet. Jud, who never liked to coddle, left it for both of them. He knew how hard up they were these days. Jud harrumphed. Ross be a man and don't care for favors. Tis proper. He be a proper bloke. But the poor lad needs help..."You keep that by you." Said Jud, putting a ratty looking muffler around his neck. Having gotten the scarf the way he liked it, he looked Ross in the eye, business like, no pity in it. "I gots eyes. You lot be flat on the bones of yer arse. You gonna tell me you can't use a fiver?" Ross looked dejected as he nodded his defeat. He and Dem could use whatever extra there was. He turned and went into the parlor. Purdie smiled at Jud and patted his shoulder. "Won't be a minute..." Jud went out to the car. Purdie found Ross and Dem on the sofa, staring at the fire. Servants saw things. Servants knew things. A good servant knew when to speak and when to be silent. Jud and Prudie had been at Nampara long enough to feel a little more than employees. Ross, boy and man, had been their kid, if you like, not having little 'uns of their own. They never made a show of it, but she knew Ross looked to them sometimes for the home comforts absent with his family all gone. Dem was their little 'un too and their poor little chibby, she Ross and Dem had lost. Ross had his arm around her and Dem was curled up by him with her knees drawn up. Staring at the fire, lost in their own thoughts, their hair fallen forward, Ross still clutching the five pound note. They looked utterly dejected. Prudie cleared her throat. They looked to her. They reminded Prudie of the pitiful looking orphans in some of the stories she'd watched at the cinema with her mam as a child. T'aint right to lay such hard times on a nice pair o' kids like them... She lifted her chin, spoke plain, no pity in it. "We got a bit put by. Jud ain't handin' ee nothin' we can't spare." Ross nodded. She made a move to go and thought better of it. They looked at her with dull, glum, tired out eyes. The happiness she'd seen in them when they first wed had become crushed under all the hard luck and the Evil Designs of some folk who can't leave two good 'uns like them in peace. "Black times don't last forever. You lot'll get back on yer feet." They nodded. Ross pulled Dem closer and she turned to go. It occurred to her as she went out to the car, they looked as if they did not believe her. She gave a nod to Jud as she approached and spared a thought for her barefoot grufflers, rumpled and smiling, covered in grass and clear as any coin what they had gotten up to. Head over heels in love like proper sweethearts...poor ol' lambs... Jud started the engine. He was unsure if he did right. He stared at his hands on the steering wheel. "T'weren't charity..." Prudie smiled. "Naw, luv. You did right by 'em." They drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frozen Love, Buckingham Nicks 1973
> 
> Live And Let Die, Paul Mc Cartney and Wings 1973
> 
> Empty Pages, Traffic 1970
> 
> Every Mother's Son, Traffic 1970
> 
> chibby: baby, Julia
> 
> 5 pounds in 1973 was about 50 pounds in today's money. Jud and Prudie giving that money back to Ross was a very kind and extravagant gesture.


	2. Wichita Lineman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolves at the door

Ross closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped. He sighed as he reread the letter that had come from EMI. Demelza had seen the envelope and she worried over it. If Resurgam got dropped from EMI, it would compound all their problems. "Ross?" He flicked his eyes up from the letter and looked across the hall to her. "I have to go to London." he said, quietly. Dem hesitated but she forced herself to ask. "Have you been dropped?" He smiled to assuage her fear, though it had a melancholy to it. "No, not yet anyway." She exhaled, Ross felt warmly towards her. She cared for him and their life and he had a steadfast companion in her. Ross extended his hand and she came forward to take it in hers. They went to the parlor, for Ross intended to speak to her about the letter. He thought better of it. He was not enthused to deal with the harshness of the real world. He preferred to hide from it, for a little while at least. He turned to Dem, a little sad, a little nervous. "Come to bed?" Dem's eyes widened. She was lonely for him, even as they shared their bed. Life had been dark since Julia's death. They hadn't made love in the daytime for a long while. She nodded. He tossed the letter on to the pew nearest to him. They went upstairs to their room and closed the door. She was nervous. She did not show as yet. Telling Ross about the baby was impossible these days. There were so many troubles on their plate. Ross looked at Dem and smiled. "Perhaps we're out of practice..." She grinned. "I've heard it's like riding a bike..." She pulled off her top and raised one eyebrow at him. She stood in a denim skirt and her bra. "Your turn." she whispered. Ross smiled wider. He removed his tee shirt and stood in his jeans and boots. He pulled off his boots and socks. "Your turn." Dem unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. She was now standing in her undergarments. Ross looked at her from top to toe. "My turn." he whispered and brought up the distance between them. He gently followed the strap of her bra with his forefinger. He looked at her breasts and followed the slope of her left breast, the softest touch of a finger... and looked into her eyes, suddenly. They stared at each other. There was an odd fusion of love and desire and fear. They were badly broken, their hearts had been broken and it was in them to mend, but they were afraid. Having abandoned themselves to so much love and then been brought down by tragedy, it was frightening to try again. They had sex but it was guarded, perfunctory, neither partner wanting to lose themselves. The love was there but they were afraid of being punished again...Time to mend? Ross drew his arms around her and kissed her forehead. She brought her hands to his waist and hooked her thumb in one of the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him closer to her. He looked at her and she looked at him. Gently, like a pact, they each parted their lips. "Dem..." She tilted her chin up and they gently joined their mouths. Her tongue tipped forward into his mouth and they jousted softly, tasted each other. Ross' low growl, a hum from his throat. Dem felt his arousal and it lit a thrill through her. If they could stop time and just keep the wicked world away from them. If they could hide from all the punishing luck they suffered. Build a protection around each other. Ross broke free of the kiss. They removed each other's clothes and went to bed.

The light in the room had changed. The sun was going down. They heard the Paynters leaving for the day. The faint sound of the door and their car leaving. Ross put a leg around Dem as if he was capturing her. She pressed back into him and linked their fingers, pressed a kiss on the back of his hand. There was the heat of their bodies, their subtle musk perfuming the sheets, their breathing and the ticking of the clock, across the room, on the bureau. Ross let his hand skim down her side and then joined their fingers again. She sighed. "I wish we could stay like this forever." He nestled his face in her hair. He knew what she meant-no past, no future, just their bodies with nothing between them and the pleasure to be had from it. He sighed. "If I could make it so, I would." His breath as he spoke was warm against her neck. Then he lay in a twist so his leg still lay over her but he looked up at the canopy of the bed. Dem wondered if she was making a mistake, asking now when they had clawed back a bit of happiness. But Ross was fretful again. She turned within his leg and pulled hers through. A lovers knot...Unintentionally, she grazed her groin against his in the process and he tightened his leg around her. A spark of interest. "Ross...?" He turned to look at her. He eyes darted to her lips, to her eyes, she stared back at him. He could see her worry for him, he knew they must speak of the letter. But he did not want to let real life back in just yet. He wished to hide a little while longer. She blinked at him with concern and he smiled. "Did they..." Ross shushed her, gently. He whispered, "No, Dem. Not now..." He let his hand stray down to touch her. "Let me kiss you again...you are delicious..."

It was not until the night, having made love again, having had dinner, having gotten ready for bed-to retire for the night-that Demelza asked Ross what the letter had said. He got under the sheets and put his arm out to gather her against him as she lay beside him. She lay her head on his chest and he spoke up into the canopy rather than her. "We owe one more album to the label..." Contractually, Resurgam was obligated to deliver a fourth album to EMI. Dem stilled as she saw the trouble. Ned would do it, but she knew Dwight, still upset over Keren's murder, would take a lot of persuading. He might say no outright. Ross looked at Demelza in the darkened room and sighed. "It's the gentleman's way out, I suppose. If we can't honor the contract, they can drop us without using the trial or the business with Mark Daniel as an excuse. Bloodless. Clean." "Oh, Ross..." Dem could see Ross was distraught. She lay her hand on his chest. He ran his free hand through his hair and then lay his head on his arm. Ross stared up into the dark. "What will you do?" asked Demelza. He did not answer at once. He sighed. At the point Dem thought he would not answer, he said, glumly, "I don't know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wichita Lineman, Glen Campbell 1968


	3. Tell Me Something Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray of light

Ross was gone for four days. Jud and Prudie could see Dem was agitated and made themselves as unobtrusive as possible while looking after her in little ways. Prudie suggested Dem go out walking with Garrick rather than work along side her at the morning chores. She had Dem make the currant buns to let her spend some of her nervous energy kneading dough. Jud sang more often around the house, sea shanties and old folk songs from the long ago Cornish past. He would find the sillier stories in his newspaper to read aloud when Dem happened to be in the kitchen at the same time he was. Knowing that Ross was soon to return, Prudie made cinder toffee, something she knew they liked but didn't make very often. They let the house feel lived in and friendly, contriving subtle ways to let her know they were keeping faith with her and she and Ross weren't drowning in troubles on their own.

Demelza heard the door and rushed to meet Ross in the hall. She had been in a slow motion panic over the idea that Resurgam would lose their record deal, and was anxious to find out what happened. Ross set his bag down and turned to face her as if he'd popped down the road to run errands. He smiled at her. He removed his coat and hung it on the hall tree. "Hello, Dem." he said quietly. He was looking at her with the sort of mischief she had not seen in Ross for some time. Her heart leapt. If he was willing to tease her, it can't have gone badly. "Something's happened...?" She took a step towards him. His smile widened. He remained mum and went into the parlor. Dem was beside herself. "What happened?" She stood in the doorway and watched Ross poke the fire, to settle the logs to a merrier blaze, and sit on the sofa. To look at him, he might have not been away at all. He pursed his lips and pretended to look as if he couldn't understand her curiosity. She came to sit by him and he caught her about the waist and sat her on his lap. She giggled. They had been troubled for so long, Ross' unabashed smile and playfulness was like a tonic. He moved to kiss her, but she put her hand over his mouth. "Oh, no you don't! Don't tease! I've been worried sick!" Ross looked into her eyes, held her hand with his and then bit one of her fingers, gently and she started laughing. "Tell me!" He looked at her over the tips of her fingers. Ross said, "Kiss first!" Dem smiled. "No! If you don't tell me I won't..." Ross gave a filthy sounding snicker. "Well I won't!" She laughed, clearly doubling her resolve. They looked at each other, happy for a change. How long had it been since they had been carefree? They sat knowing they were not but, at the moment, they could almost pretend they were untroubled. "ROSS!" He lay her back on the sofa and started kissing her face, pecking at her like a demented sort of bird for she refused to let him kiss her mouth. She turned her head this way and that and they laughed as he persisted. "Tell me!" she laughed. "I want a proper kiss!" said Ross. "No!" she shrieked, happily. Thus occupied, they had not seen Jud and Prudie who got as far as the parlor doorway, saw the goings on, and exchanged a look before turning right back around and returning to the kitchen. What ever it was, they were satisfied it wasn't a calamity. Ross kissed her forehead. "You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met!" She pitched her voice lower, seductive. "Tell me..." Ross closed his eyes and opened them again. He had felt like a man deprived of oxygen, near to the edge and doomed. He was not entirely free of his troubles but having had good news, he couldn't help but feel giddy over it. Dem was not without her own challenge. He kissed her nose and sat up. "Alright, you win! But I will have my kiss!" Dem sat sat up too. He looked at her warmly. They had conjured their own reprieve. "EMI has agreed to accept the session we did after the wedding to fulfill the fourth release." Demelza gasped. The songs she'd recorded with Dwight and Ned and Ross in '68, the summer they wed. It had been a whim but it was, technically, a Resurgam project-all three members-and already "in the can", finished and no need to bring Dwight out of his solitude. They giggled like children. The relief was incredible. "That earns your kiss!" And Dem kissed Ross, smash bang on the mouth, and time and worry and heartache seemed to cease as they enjoyed it. She pulled away and Ross sighed. "Satisfied?" She asked. He looked at her and nodded 'yes' with a sparkle in his eye she had dearly missed. He smiled. "We have an advance*, we won't be so tightly bound now." Dem shrieked with glee and hugged him. Ross buried his face in her hair and she could feel his smile widen against her neck. They had so little good news these days. They sat properly and he put his arm around her. "I'm that glad, Ross! I was fretting something awful!" Ross lay his head on the back of the sofa. "So was I, truth be told." They looked at each other with relief writ in their faces. "We pulled ourselves out of the fire." said Ross.

They went to the kitchen. Jud and Prudie looked expectantly at them. Prudie was pleased to catch a glimpse of her grufflers once more. Ross and Dem looked like a weight had been lifted off of both of them. They looked happy. "Ee slipped the noose, then?" asked Jud. Ross grinned like a kid. "Yes, We satisfied our obligation to EMI and we aren't dropped!" He smiled. "You're not to be rid of me!" Dem sat at the kitchen table and Ross followed suit. Prudie set a battered, old Quality Street tin in front of Ross and he opened it. "Cinder toffee?!" His eyes lit from the surprise. "Aye. Get some of that down ee, tea won't be a minute!" Jud started laughing. "Ee'd think ee put the crown jewels in front of 'em!" Ross and Dem smiled as they helped themselves to Prudie's candy. Jud and Prudie smiled for she made it to comfort sorrow and they now had it to celebrate with instead. They sat and enjoyed their sweets and reassuringly strong cups of milky tea. The dark clouds of their difficulties were pierced by a ray of sunshine, but not actually lifted. Dem still needed to find the right time to tell Ross she was expecting a baby and, while the advance had given them a much needed boost to their finances, with a tour unlikely, the Poldarks would hurt for money again before long. Ross knew that, for all he'd made good on their contract, EMI was still leery of Resurgam. Could they be blamed? But, for a happy, shinning moment, there was a joyful reprieve and cinder toffee on the kitchen table and the wolves lured away from the door. For now.

Jud and Prudie had a cozy house in Sawle. A time tunnel into an earlier Cornwall. Grapes, apples and pears, made of wax, stood at the ready-never out of place and, somehow, never dusty-on a lace covered sideboard. A basket of knitting at Prudie's armchair and a mass of newspapers in a basket by Jud's. They had a small fire grate and a radio near by. It was the old fashioned sort that was practically a furnishing for the room. They kept their TV in the lounge. The Paynter's parlor could be 1972 or 1932. It was a timeless and old fashioned West Country home. Jud settled in his chair and pulled his pay envelope out. He found that Ross had added back the five pounds that Jud had given them. He lifted it up to show Prudie. She smiled. "They's come up trumps for once..." Jud puffed on his pipe. "Aye. Set it by, though." Prudie frowned. "Eh?" Jud blew out the soft scented pipe tobacco and looked at his wife. "Put that five quid aside. It be feast or famine o'er Nampara. Young Ross ain't out o' the woods yet." Prudie gave him a baleful look. "He got 'is record sorted..." Jud sat, unmoved. "Aye." He puffed away. Prudie was annoyed. "You always was a gloomy so and so!" Jud smiled. "Look to the worst and ee won't be disappointed!" They smiled. "I ain't wishin' no wrong on 'em," said Jud, "but they's still bent back from losin' the chibby and Ross ain't on the good side of them record people." Prudie looked like the cat who got the cream. Jud raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, girl. Out with it!" Prudie smiled. "Our Dem is lookin' a bit peakie, now and then..." Jud let his pipe drop into his hand. "She be settin' a babby?!" Jud's mouth twitched, he wanted to smile. "It be early days yet," said Prudie, "but she be lookin' peakie..." Jud sat back and took another, satisfied puff, digesting this information. "She tell ee?" Prudie shook her head 'no'. "She got the look about 'er..." He gestured with his pipe. "It could be the worry..." Prudie nodded, but she had a smile to suggest that the first theory was the correct one. They smiled and Jud sighed, wistfully. "Well it 'ould be a fine thing. I hope she do got a babby, they was just gettin' started..." Jud was always grumbling and teasing Ross and Dem about Julia, but he was as sad as any of them when she passed. "Let 'em have som'ing good for a change..." Jud tapped out his pipe on the grate. "Be fitty to have good news for a change."

* Those who have read the story in this series, "New Career In A New Town" may remember Hugh Armitage being very snippy over Demelza 'not getting her money' for the Valley Of Bread album and making Ross sound like a horrible ogre who was stingy and controlling. Hugh was not in the position to understand the project or the financial straights the Poldarks suffered. He was seeing it through the eyes of a producer, Hugh was an unreliable narrator in that instance. The advance-the money EMI gave them against Valley Of Bread's release was theirs to live on and the project was a bit of fun for them all in the wake of their marriage with no real plan for the session's tracks after they were completed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell Me Something Good, Rufus 1974


	4. Any Colour You Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembrance day

Leaning against the kitchen counter, across from Dem at the stove, sleeves rolled up, his blue jeans smudged with dirt from working outside with Jud and his boots in dire need of polishing, Ross spoke on the phone to the photographer. He would come to Nampara to shoot pictures to use for the album cover. Both Ross and Demelza looked forward to the distraction. They were still expending a lot of energy trying to be careful with their money and still grappling with sadness and problems even as they found more solace in each other recently. Ross suggested they be taken in the Long Field, though the grass was only a foot high. The late sixties, pastoral feeling it suggested to the photographer was appealing and he agreed. He mentioned to Ross that they should take interior shots in the house and Ross agreed that would be fine. The more images to choose from, the better, he said. Dem, in a floral mini dress that had seen better days, looked up from her cooking and said, suddenly, "It's a shame it's autumn, there's no flowers..." Her voice carried into the receiver. Ross spoke. "My wife was saying the flowers aren't in the field at this time of year." He listened. "That's a good idea..." Ross brought the receiver away from his mouth to speak to Dem. "He said he could bring flowers with him..." Dem brightened, "That would be lovely!" Ross listened once more. "He says he can get roses in London," The photographer spoke. Ross said, "Any color you like..." Dem stirred a rabbit stew that would soon make a pie. They were from the snares Jud and Ross had set. Every economy helped. She thought of that summer, so different to now. "White. White roses..."

Nampara was just the sort of country house that a rock band would retreat to, thought Storm, the photographer, as it came into view. The talk around the Poldarks, the sly gossip of how young is too young, the drugs, the glamour in it even as it was quite sordid. Storm had seen pictures of them, they were, undeniably, photogenic. The photos would need a breath of all that to make the cover he intended. The romance of the sixties with a layer of 1970s decadence over it. The car was filled with the heavy scent of six dozen white roses in buckets, teetering back and forth with the car's movement. His assistant stared at the house and whistled his approval. "Poldark's loaded!" Storm shrugged. "You can't tell sometimes. He's got a house in London too, but they could still be skint..." They got out of the car, leaving the flowers in the back for now, and rang the bell. Ross answered. He thought it better that the Paynters not be present. Just the two of them, trying to feel what July '68 felt like again... "Hello, I'm Storm. This is my assistant, Jasper." At this, Jasper nodded hello. They shook hands. "Hello, I'm Ross. Do come in." It was like a film set. One couldn't have asked for a better place to shoot. Stone walls, old furniture. Red patterned carpets that were just threadbare enough. The light was great. Storm wondered if they had an Aga stove in the kitchen. It was rustic perfection. You couldn't ask for more and then, goddamn! Here's the wife... 'Jesus', thought Storm, 'This cover is going to make itself!' Demelza Poldark looked like a Pre Raphaelites daydream. Ross Poldark looked like a hero in a romance novel. This was going to be a good shoot. He could feel it in his bones. "Hello." Demelza came along side Ross in a white peasant blouse with small red designs embroidered on it and a long denim skirt. The possibilities were endless.

The sky was swept clean. Endlessly blue with the fresh smelling air before the chill of winter. A last gasp for the soft air, before the land changed once more. Ross looked over the Field with Dem some yards away and walking slowly, gathering stray fronds of grass with flecked tops. Not flowers but a sheaf of grain, gathered from the landscape. It fit somehow. They would use the flowers inside the house. Storm was pleased. The strange twist of the clear weather, Ross' dark figure punctured by the shock of his white shirt, the bright color of Demelza's hair against the ripe grain colors of the Field. The looks of longing between them, or their fascination with the other-they often stole glances at each other-the frisson of sex between them-they were attractive and sexy looking together, but not forced or tawdry looking. It was everything Storm envisioned. They were willing to be led, an attitude that made Storm's job much easier. And they were as real a rock couple as they were rumored to be. They refused to allow nudity, but neither Ross or Dem had any qualms about having her wander about in just the the blouse. It was long enough to be somewhat like a dress but short enough to be provocative in the extreme. If anything, it was a hotter tableau for it. They shot in the field, they shot in the library, using the roses from London. By the time they had done, Storm was beside himself. He knew he had the look he was after. The Poldarks were sensational.

Jasper put his feet up, reclined in the backseat. The buckets that transported the roses, empty and stacked off to the side on the floor. He sighed. "That was amazing!" Storm smiled. He was already thinking of the fonts and filters he would use. he was excited by the possibilities. 'Perhaps fuchsia...' he thought.

Ross sat at the desk and Dem sat in his lap. Unmoving. They curled into each other to the point their faces could not be seen, Ross' curls enfolded into Dem's. His hand, possessive, resting on her thigh, her arms around his neck. They had enjoyed the shoot but now that it was done and the photographer and the assistant gone, all the emotions that had been set aside while the work was happening came crashing down upon them. They were quiet. An occasional whimper or sob between them could be heard. Their tears soaked the other's shoulder and they clung to each other as if they were frightened that the other would disappear. They missed Julia terribly. Everything that was beautiful about their honeymoon summer seemed to dissolve when faced with their loss. Ross sniffed and raised his head to look at her. They tried to smile. He brought his hand to Dem's face and wiped away a tear with his thumb even as his continued to fall. Dem looked at Ross and, in a loving manner, took the edge of her sleeve and daubed at his cheeks. He would have to be told about the baby, but there was never a good time...He gently took her hand, moistened from drying his face, and kissed it. A shaky sigh escaped his throat and he hesitated to speak for he could hear a croak in his voice before he could talk clearly. "I think it went well..." She nodded. "They were nice. He seemed happy with everything..." Dem lay her head on his shoulder and he brought his arm around her. He gave her an affectionate squeeze. "I don't want to get up, but we probably should." Again, she nodded. She hopped off his lap and walked into the hall. Ross watched her. Her hair down her back, her legs long and shapely for all she was slender. the subtle outline of her body through the peasant blouse. His wife. He followed her into the parlor. She lay across the sofa. Her legs went for miles... He smiled and retrieved his Gibson. They slowly, imperceptibly, were falling out of the habit of playing guitar together. Either Dem played or Ross played. At first born of necessity, for one or the other of them was holding the baby, they did not resume after she had gone. The pleasure they had so often taken in playing together might have been no less, if they had chosen to do so. It was not in them to do so. They played to comfort the other now. To let music balm their troubles. A quiet fear of wanting to join again in song. A fear of losing even more happiness inhibited them. Ross played a classical piece that was quiet and elegant. The room dimmed as night's darkness fell earlier in the autumn months. Dem got up and put on the lamps. Ross watched her move about the room as he played and, suddenly, one of the strings snapped. The discordant noise of it made them both blink with surprise and look at the guitar. There seemed to be more significance in it than just a nuisance. It spoke of the sense of them feeling doomed in some undefinable way. Ross sighed. He let the portion of the string that hung from the string holder lie across his palm like a dead snake. "I'll restring it in the morning." Ross seemed to be speaking to the air around him rather than Dem. Demelza came to sit with him. She took the Gibson and set it, broken string pieces droozled off the top and dragging the floor from the bottom, on it's stand. She returned. Ross put his arm around her and she lay her head on his shoulder and they sat, quietly. They should eat. They should build a fire. They should string the guitar. They should speak about the coming child. They hadn't the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any Colour You Like, Pink Floyd 1973


	5. Wonderwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Because the roses had their thorns removed, having Ross and Demelza lie on the floor among them was a natural decision. Having shot Dem sitting on the floor of the library with Ross seated at the desk behind her, Storm and Jasper set about creating a still life around them from the odds and ends in the room. Ross and Dem found this amusing. It was their 'job', it seemed, to kiss each other and they set about their work in enjoyment, even as the two men puttered around them. "Look into her eyes..." The constant sound of the camera's shutter above them. Ross tilted his head up and looked into Dem's eyes with a smoldering look of passion. This lasted a little under a minute as they both burst into hysterical laughter. "Alright you two, let's get serious!" "Sorry!" Beamed Demelza who still giggled a little. A pause to remove Dem's hair from one of the Fenders laying near her. She settled herself against Ross who held her loosely about the waist with one hand. Her legs were tangled about in his and she held his face as she looked at him. The shutter kept going. Jasper had another camera at the ready. Storm wanted no interruptions. The Poldarks looked incredible. The white roses and green leaves beneath them on the patterned carpet. Both of them long limbed and slender. The mass of curls from both of their hair spread about with little need to tamper with it. Ross had multiple black Stratocasters and they lay two of them by Dem's head and one by Ross' feet. Storm had Ross fully dressed in his boots and Dem barefoot with the peasant blouse covering juuuuust...enough. Her bare legs in contrast to the black denim of Ross' jeans was terrific. There were old glass paperweights that sparkled among the roses and lent an occult flavor to the look. Jasper snapped some stems shorter, to add more roses. He crumbled some petals over them. After some consultation, they were removed as being too distracting. "Kiss her again!" Ross and Dem looked at each other. They had been friends since 1964. They had been lovers since 1968. They had hard times, to be sure, but it was 1972 and they were still here. Ross gently let his hand stray up her thigh and Dem sighed. They wiggled a little closer. Dem put her leg over Ross and he held it there, by her knee. She closed her eyes and he closed his. They kissed passionately as the shutter kept clicking. "Yes! Fucking hell! Don't stop!" The shutter stopped. "Lemme have the other camera!" Jasper handed Storm the second camera. "This is great!!" The whirring click of the shutter resumed. "This is so fucking hot!" Ross and Demelza lost themselves in their kiss. Ross began to stroke her thigh and Demelza brought her arm around Ross' head. "Yes! This looks amazing!!" Ross rolled over her and started kissing her neck. "Hold it! the roses are getting crushed!" Ross looked up and started laughing. Dem grinned. Ross chuckled, "It's gotten a little out of hand!" Demelza started laughing again. Ross pecked her on the mouth and they were assisted by Jasper in rearranging them amongst the objects on the floor.  
"Dem, look across to the wall, don't look at Ross..." She did so. "Don't smile." She looked up briefly. Storm was using a stand to keep the camera still while the shots were taken as he stood on a step ladder to get a proper bird's eye view. "Stay serious," he said. "Look like you're watching the sea." That she could do. She had a far off look as Ross nestled his head under her chin and seemed asleep. "Open your eyes, Ross." He did. "Close them again." He did. "Ross, put your hand in her hair. Jasper! Get a couple more rose leaves by her head!" After careful rearrangement, the Poldarks were now spooned together. This pose was abandoned as the composition became too heavily weighted to Ross. "O.K. You can sit up. They sat among all the broken roses as Ross looked over his Strats, to be certain they were alright. They looked up at the photographer. Storm grinned at them. "You two are naturals..." He came down the ladder. "Great shots today! Smashing!" Jasper started heaping the spent roses into a large paper bag. Ross put his Fenders away. "Would you like some tea?" asked Demelza. "Yes, thank you!" Storm brightened. He could see their kitchen..."We aren't fussy. We can just nip down to the kitchen..." Ross and Dem had no trouble with that. Storm was disappointed. It was a quaint kitchen, but they had an ordinary stove rather than an Aga. 'You can't have everything...' Thought Storm. After the shoot in the library, they didn't really need a domestic shot anyway...They had their tea and took their leave. They shook hands and Storm promised them their own set of contact sheets as well as some prints. They waved goodbye from the door. Ross rested his chin on Dem's shoulder. They both smelled of roses. "That was fun..." said Ross as they went back into the house and shut the door.

The gatefold, original pressing of Valley Of Bread had the shot of Demelza looking off dreamily as Ross seemed asleep in her arms. Storm was bitterly disappointed by EMI's decision to go for that picture rather than their torrid kiss. Two years later, Storm included the outtake of Ross and Dem's kiss in a gallery show. The photo was purchased by the Victoria and Albert Museum and, after its inclusion in a 2003 exhibit about the counter culture, became a best selling postcard in the museum's gift shop.

Subsequent repressings of Valley Of Bread were a regular, twelve inch release, no longer having the gatefold spread. This was a common situation with reprints of 60s and 70s records as they ceased to be new releases and became part of a record label's backlist. Original 1973 pressings have become sought after collectors items.

The recent Japanese reissue restores the gatefold inner picture and includes a black and white reproduction of a contact sheet of alternate poses on the inner sleeve, on 180 gram, heavyweight vinyl, with a white, long stemmed rose superimposed on the obi strip. Pricey, but definitely worth the money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderwall, Oasis 1995

**Author's Note:**

> Gimme Shelter, Rolling Stones 1969
> 
> Julia Poldark, confirmed by the coroner, died at eighteen months from a cot death, meaning that the death remained unexplained even after the autopsy and investigation. Most cot deaths happen to infants under on year of age. Cot deaths at later ages are rare but do happen. ( Grahamsian, 18th century ways to die, like diphtheria, are nullified through modern immunization )  
They went to bed with her alive and woke up to find her dead. Not only tragic, but the absolute worst way for Ross to lose a child. 33 1/3's Ross has an ongoing trauma over the deaths of his family members. (In actual Poldark, Ross' younger brother Claude died after their mother, Grace. In this story Claude predeceases her and Ross has a lot of survivors guilt over his sibling rivalry, his jealousy of Claude as a child) Ross struggles with the irrational fear that he is cursed and the "reason" why his family don't survive. Julia's birth, in May, which was also the month Grace Poldark died, has compounded the idea for him that it is his "fault". That their second child, Jeremy, is also born in May, makes Ross depressed, afraid and inhibits him from getting close to Jeremy at first. Ross does not speak of these things. No one, including Demelza, has knowledge of Ross' interior life in this regard.
> 
> Contracts for performers in the 1960s and 1970s were notoriously bad for the artists. They were weighted in favor of the label and management. Even David Bowie, at the height of his Ziggy Stardust success, made next to nothing. Bowie did not realize he had signed away his earnings to his management company, Mainman. They bankrolled an expensive and lavish lifestyle for Bowie but ,personally, he ended up broke. Having made some strides in advocating for better compensation and better terms for musicians, Ross soon became a target of the Warleggan's ire. All record companies are stingy about royalties and compensation. Warleggan Group, as one might imagine, are very against reforms over this issue. Rather than let Ross have a chance at becoming more successful, the Warleggans got Ross framed and arrested on drugs trafficking to kneecap him and get him out of the way. By injuring his reputation, they stopped him becoming the respected figurehead of the movement for compensation reform. Unlike the actual Poldark story, Ross was entirely framed, he was not working with a Trencrom like deal and looking the other way. Ross was entirely innocent. The opportunity to bring up his former heroin use and the the ongoing gossip about the idea that he had been sleeping with Dem underage, made the trial a press spectacle and the Warleggan's derailed the momentum Ross had as well as ruining Ross and Dem's finances. This is the 'Carnmore' aspect of the story (and probably should have been its own story, but thems the breaks...) 
> 
> In this story Francis and Jud are loyal and do not cause Ross problems. Francis, who was looking to diversify his business interests into what seemed to be a good thing- getting in on the ground floor of Warleggan Group as it bid to become a rival to the established labels like EMI and Warner Group- broke with George over the situation with the trial. 
> 
> 33 1/3's Francis has the same gambling problems of his WG counterpart. 
> 
> The next story will start in Warleggan and go forward from there. If Hugh Armitage and Malcolm McNeil are characters that are unappealing to you, there is a strong possibility that "All Tomorrow's Parties" will be unappealing. My only defense is I have a story in my head and I want to tell it. All the Romelza written heretofore was written with the knowledge of what I intend to "do to them" and, on some level, Winston Graham remains my co pilot. I half expect that it will just be me and my imaginary 33 1/3 friends by the time it is finished as I make all the readers unhappy/pissed off. But that's O.K. ...
> 
> So, in the next story, I get to run around like a sailor on shore leave. If that does not interest you, once that ends, we can all meet again in the prequel, happy days of "Little Wing" and "Why Don't We..."
> 
> A Fairlight is an early sampling technology from 1979. The synthesizer could be programed to capture sounds and play them. If you play the musical scale- do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do- the notes are correct but the sound can be anything-car horns, breaking glass, dogs barking, voices... 33 1/3 plays many of the correct Poldark notes, but the sounds are a bit different. The next story is offered, among all these other fan fiction tales, 'wishin' ee no harm...'


End file.
